Thinking
by Keith Koenar
Summary: It is as if she knows what he's thinking. And this should lead to the only possible end; a bloody one. Rorschach/OC, rated M for violence, drabble-like
1. Chapter 1

_Her cyan hair is dirty from working with the machines and some strands start to fade into that bleached, greenish color underneath, a wind flares up, jacket flying as she lights her cigarette. I'm sitting next to her, she doesn't know my eyes are on her. Looking out to the city as if it belonged to her, she enjoys her break but it doesn't show, always attentive to the twisted world and the dangers that surround us._

He must think I can't feel his eyes on me. How foolish. Silence rests between us like an invisible wall, I'm sure that underneath that mask lays another one, just as plain, just as boring. I have to get back to work, time is running away. But Rohrschach does nothing, says nothing, asks for nothing, and it sure wasn't me that was so keen on meeting him.

Taking another drag I turn my head. "What the fuck do you want?" I say, wanting to get this over with.

It's sure he wants something, everybody wants something.

_In the city underneath us screams a child._

_It's true, I want something, she knows. And there is a reason why I'm asking her, a lone criminal that high-jacks cars with a TEC-9, only to bring them to a safe house and pimp them for the richs of the underground. The money she gets paid for three jobs would get her through the year, but there's a new car in her garage every two and a half weeks. It's said that she is a mastermind, many people wonder how she does all the work on her own. Maybe she doesn't, must check._

_Apparently, she likes to be paid in cash, in bundles worth a grand and packed away in a white duffle bag. She also accepts life-long supplies of different kind of groceries, the cashier at the store around the corner already knows her. Sometimes, she tips him with one hundred dollar notes, and the happily married man and father of two takes them to go to the strip-club._

_However, I don't want money._

"Need a car."

I eye him up, "Go to a salesman for a shit-ride. I don't sell to people who are broke."

Of course no one would sell him vehicles like mine, and of course he isn't broke, but curiosity pushes me to get to him. What are the risks? What am I getting into? The key is to know but not to care.

"I can pay you good money, don't worry," he has a deep voice, I could recognize it anywhere, "Need a look alike military truck, bullet-proof glass and enough space underneath the seats to store a middle-sized suitcase."

I flick my cigarette after a last drag. "One week," I say calmly, "Bullet-proof? What you're planning, it's dangerous, that much is sure. And you really want me to come with you."

He doesn't even look at me anymore. "I never said that."

_And she laughs, snickers and mocks me again, knowing I could kill her with a simple push. Her feet dangle over the edge of the roof, I picture her slipping and hitting the concrete underneath. She wouldn't mind. In a way, she reminds me of the Comedian, aware of what this world has come to, the blood and lust fueling the people that walk it, the wrong that happens, but just not caring._

_If something is dangerous, you might as well invite her immediately._


	2. Chapter 2

_She curses and rips the wheel around in a last attempt to get the truck under control, but the icy mud and the weight of the vehicle give her no chance. The whole thing tilts and screeches, strands of her hair fall over her eyes as they spot me and a scream escapes her throat It' s not a scream of fear or of anything of that sort, it's pure rage she feels. No regret, no agony, no shock. The vehicle falls on it's side, the next few rotations are quick, the rattling and crashing of metal drowning that voice that screams my name in anger.  
_  
_Finally, the giant lays on his side and the wind blows over the carcass. It's silent, save for the cold howl of winter time. No one steps out of the truck. No need to investigate._

Bright light hits my face and as I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is the cold biting my face and turning my breath into haze. For a moment, I stop and wonder where I am.

Ripped fabric, the fill of cushion on my right, I'm laying on my back, secured by a belt. A seat belt a wheel in front of me, and I recall Rorschach staring from afar as everything turns. Fucking, unmoved Rorschach as he deadpans at me, too daft to realize this is his fault, that he was supposed to do his job properly and that everything blew up because of his stupid monkey ass.

I wiggle a bit and realize I can't feel my right leg, nor can I see it from my position. My hands push against metal, slowly I squeeze myself out of this freezing hellhole, muscles trembling, aching from being knocked out for god knows how long. I find an escape, pulling myself out into the whipping snowy white air, inhaling that freedom before collapsing on top of sticky, cold metal and I know for sure, Rorschach will pay for this.

Rorschach will pay.


	3. Chapter 3

_She hasn't noticed me crouching on the ledge of the only window leading into the cellar, too preoccupied meddling with the newest car in her workshop. Something drops to the ground, she turns to grab it and freezes in the movement. There's a second of shock, then she outright glares up at me with narrowed eyes. _

Two years I've spend on my frantic search for that madman and I find him on the edge of my window, silently watching me.

"I hate you," I call up to him, "With every fiber in me. I know it means nothing to you, but I hate you."

_It does not matter to me, it's true. She turns around and fumbles with something, I think nothing of it until there's a handgun pointed in my direction. Before she fires two shots that turn the wall into dust, I duck behind the concrete. Silence. She must think I'm gone. Hear the clunking of a few utensils, then hell breaks loose in that workshop. Shattering, shots into nowhere, I leave before she's finished throwing her tantrum._

Deep inside, I know I will meet him soon again.


	4. Chapter 4

_I sit on my couch and remember watching silently as the truck tilted, crushed and came to a death. As I recall this, the woman I once thought to be dead lights a cigarette all while leaning against the table opposite from me. She is still greasy and dirty, she's still wearing the same overall, nothing has changed in these three years, apart from the metal leg underneath her trousers. For a minute and approximately thirty seconds, it is silent, and we just stare at eachother._

It is as if I can read his thoughts. He wonders how I could have survived, why I haven't changed a bit. Without his mask all of this is so much easier to read. It is not the first time I see his face, but it's the first time I know it is him. Sleek bastard had hidden in plain sight while I spent all this time sitting in my workshop and searching for him. All this time I obsessed over the thought of revenge, it was the only thing on my mind.

"You are thinking of killing me." Rohrschach has no fear, I can see it in his eyes. "I'm afraid this won't be possible."

_Then she puts out her cigarette on the table and asks if killing me isn't possible, may she fuck me instead._


	5. Chapter 5

_Suddenly I am pulling her beautiful hair, dragging her to the bedroom, she struggles, grabbing my wrist and digging her nails in until I release her to push her towards the bed. In a matter of seconds she is up again, standing on the matress, and throwing everything in reach, a bedlamp crushes on the floor and I step on the shards as I advance. Breath heavy, hissing, her eyes reflect the one of a wild animal pushed into an unescapable corner. _

_I step up and receive a nice punch in the jaw too quick to block, which adds a bleeding lip to my black eye. The next flying fist gets blocked and answered by a punch of my own, right into her solar plexus, she topples over, blood oozing, and I take advantage of the moment to push her down and up against the wall._

I spit and he freezes. Right into his fucking face. Seeing the look on it, I wish for someone to be there and witness this moment, this ultimate humiliation. I don't even fight his grip on my wrists above my head anymore, I only pin him with my eyes, enjoying, grinning like an idiot. Then I start outright laughing. I laugh and laugh, not even knowing why, winding against Rohrschach's grip, while he doesn't move a muscle, doesn't even blink.

_For the first time I can't explain my action, lean forward and kiss a living human being. From then on everything just escalates. That night we make what other people call love, a strange foreign feel invades my body as the blood of our wounds mix with sweat. Boiling hot shudders of lust wash over us, her nails pin my skin and drag deep scratches along my back, her teeth sinking into my shoulder with the last spasm inside of her and an orgasmic cry of pleasure. Again, I cannot hold back and grunt as I pump for what seems like only a second before I come. Slowing down I hear her whimpering for more , voice weak, but her grip is still tight on me and I'm aware that it won't release it anytime soon, so I give her more, again and again until she stops pleading and collapses ontop of me, breath erratic, our whole bodies pulsing together. I'm still inside of her when she sits up and lights a cigarette laying on the nightstand, calming her nerves. Watching her, I fall asleep before she has finished it._

Rorschach looks peaceful. Almost like a normal man. My side hurts. Still bleeding. Gunwound. Fucker got me with his Astra 600. Good handgun, even though it dates back from the second world war. Still bleeding. I roll off. Rorschach still sleeping. A few hours till sunrise. One last drag. Throw the cigarette to the side, hope I burn the ground. Maybe even the house. I exhale. Smile. Still hate Rorschach, somewhere. Good. Strange. Side hurts. Think of waking up Rorschach. Want to tell him I still hate him. Want to tell him we probably lost the child. Want to tell him it's his fault. But no. Tell myself I don't care. Let myself fall asleep.

_The next day, I find her dead warm body next to mine. She bled out during the night, a smile on her face, hands at her tummy. Wonder how I should dispose of the body. My carpet is burnt. Never replace it and feel confused everytime I catch a glimpse of the dark scorching._


End file.
